An OldFashioned Girl
by Ashleigh Knight
Summary: A girl escapes from an evil religious sect and stumbles upon Victor Creed's cabin while he's away. Intent on demanding she explain how she got to his cabin, he takes her in and helps her. Full summary inside. HEA Guaranteed. Victor/OC
1. The Feisty Frail

_**An Old-Fashioned Girl **_

_**Chapter One**__**: "Blood On The Handle."**_

_**Words**__**: 2,335**_

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_**Synopsis**__**: A girl escapes from an evil religious sect and, injured, stumbles upon Victor Creed's cabin while he's away. Intent on demanding she explain how she got to his remote cabin, he takes her in and helps her. When she wakes up though, she's anything but what he expected. How will Victor Creed, murderer extraordinaire handle a sweet, slightly religious female walking around his sanctuary like she owns the place? And how will she handle Victor Creed? H.E.A. Guaranteed. Victor/OC.**_

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**A/N: Okay, so this is definitely an M-rated fic, for the language obviously, and the mature content, both now and in later chapters. **

**This is actually a really difficult fic to write, one because, hey, it's **_**Victor Creed**_**; he's not exactly the easiest guy in the world to keep in character. Two, the cussing and sexual stuff is totally out of my comfort zone, but I can't write a Victor-fic without it, so… If I mess up, please be patient with me. Haha. **

**Thanks. Reviews make me happy; just letting you know. **

**P.S. **

**H.E.A. stands for Happily Ever After. I don't believe in unhappy endings. They don't exist with me. **

_**~ Jane McBrennen/Ashleigh Knight**_

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Rebecca ran faster than she ever had in her life, her bare feet painfully numb from the snow. She didn't know how long she ran, only that the man behind her wasn't letting up. She didn't know where she was getting the energy from; perhaps she'd been saving it up during her time in the Salvation Hole. Her legs and stomach were cramping, and she felt so weak, but the knowledge of what waited for her if she stopped forced her to keep going.

Horror clutched her heart when she lurched forward, her toes caught on her dress. A full second hadn't even passed after she hit the ground before her tormentor pounced on her, grabbing the back of her neck and pushing her face into the snow.

"Can't run now, can you, daughter of Satan?" the man whispered viscously in her ear, his rank breath gagging her. "I'll get the Devil out of you yet."

He started hiking her skirt up, ripping it because it had caught under his knee. She flailed around, whipping snow up around her. _Dear God_, she prayed, _please help me. Please don't let me die like this. If You're with me, then I beg You, please help me_…

Her hand struck something hard, and she felt for it as the man pressed her harder into the ground while he unbuckled his trousers with one hand. It was a rock, a fist-sized rock with a sharp edge. She closed her hand around it and went very still. He became distracted by the difficulty he was having with pulling his pants down and his hand loosened around the back of her neck for a slit second.

It was more than enough.

She tightened her hand around the rock and struck at him…

Victor Creed walked out of the small general store, his purchases in hand. The cold wind hit his face, pelting him with large but delicate snowflakes. It didn't really bother him, not like it did the frails, who scurried around, in a hurry to seek shelter from the coming storm. The news said it was going to be the worst storm on record in over a century. Victor was glad he had decided not to take any more assignments for the next few months so he could take a much needed vacation. He enjoyed work and the weather didn't really bother him but tracking an assignment with all this snow would be a fucking nightmare, and that was putting it nicely.

He walked over to his black Hummer and stepped in, a surge of pride filling his black heart. He'd just bought it – for a great price, thanks to his expertise in the art of 'negotiation' – and he loved it. It was so fucking _big_ that unlike with every other car he'd ever driven he didn't feel like he was getting into a cage every time he stepped into it. Long trips weren't quite the hell they'd once been, thanks to this baby.

He shifted it into gear, backed up and headed out of town toward his cabin. It was about an hour drive from town, at least for safe drivers when the weather wasn't bad. He ignored posted speed limits and drove dangerously fast on the on the icy road. He didn't have to worry about cops; they wouldn't be too concerned with a road that led up to only one cabin. Even if they were watching the road they generally had the good sense not to bother him. He had a reputation, after all.

Everyone in town knew he was a mutant. They both feared and hated him, though none of them dared show the latter emotion. Not since that store clerk refused him service and ended up in pieces, strewn across his entire store, the very next day. Now, half the people didn't even charge him for what he wanted. The rest gave him steep discounts.

He enjoyed his power, his animal prowess in the art of making people afraid. He was good at it and it was easy.

Sadly, he remembered a time when Jimmy would've reminded him that the easy things in life weren't always the best, that sometimes the best things took a little effort and work. He shook it off though, well accustomed to doing so. He had been a long time without his brother, but his voice never seemed to have left.

He didn't enjoy the long drive up to his cabin; he wasn't really able to relax the way he usually did. He didn't like being out in this kind of weather. He much preferred being at home during blizzards. They brought up too many memories of the times when he'd had to shelter Jimmy from the cold before he got his healing factor.

It seemed like forever before he saw the tree he parked his vehicle under; he would have to walk the rest of the way as the road didn't go any farther toward his cabin.

He parked, grabbed his purchases and locked up, throwing a tarp over the large car before trudging toward his cabin. As he walked he caught a strange scent, the scent of another person. Several people. Blood.

He stopped and smelled the air. One female, one male. The blood belonged to both of them. He started forward again, following the scents toward his cabin. It wasn't long before he came across the male's body, shredded up from wild animals and frozen to the ground by the cold. Victor stepped into a puddle of blood and heard the distinct cracking of ice under his feet. The man would've had to be there for at least a two or three hours for the blood to be that frozen.

He bent over the corpse and took a closer look at the clothing. It appeared to be something out of the mid-nineteenth century, hand-stitched and the material woven by hand.

The dead man appeared to be holding something in his right hand so Victor took hold of it and pried it loose from the ground, ripping it off in the process. He broke off the frozen fingers, the crunch of breaking bones echoing in the silent woods. It was a bonnet. An old-fashioned lady's bonnet made of a hideous green material. He hadn't seen anything like it since the Civil War.

His curiosity now peaked, he stepped over the body and forward, into the clearing where his cabin stood. The female had left a trail of dark blood frozen to the snow, leading him to his cabin. The door was open a crack and had blood smeared on the bottom like someone had clawed at it to get in. There was blood on the handle as well.

He pushed the door open but it caught on something halfway. Normally he would've just shoved it open but he didn't really want to have to fix it if he ended up breaking it, which was pretty likely if he used force. Instead, he sidestepped in, shutting the door behind him.

What had been blocking the door was the body of a small, half-starved, fragile girl. It was hard to tell how old she was because of her small size but if he had to guess he'd say teens. She was wearing a frock that matched the hideous bonnet he still held in his hand. She was crumpled up and it looked like her arm was broken.

Her chest rose fractionally and he realized she was still breathing. He rolled his eyes in irritation. Why the fuck did she have to stumble into _his_ cabin? He contemplated throwing her outside for the wolves to tear apart. She groaned and the arm that wasn't broken moved. She held something in her hand that had been hidden by her skirts before. He leaned down on his haunches and saw that it was a bloody rock. He took it out of her hand and smelled it; the blood was the same that had come from the dead man in the woods.

He looked at her again, summing her up. It was hard to believe she'd taken down a man that size with just a rock; she didn't even look like she could lift the rock, let alone hit a man with it. He had to admit though that it seemed she had, and he was a little impressed that a frail like her had the fight in her to survive what had obviously been several months of hell and still beat the shit out of a guy three times her size, in weight and strength.

He made a snap decision and gently picked her up, strangely compelled to not cause her any unnecessary pain. He figured if she didn't live or he got tired of her he could always throw her out. The wolves would still be hungry, and he'd be no worse off. Besides, he still didn't have any idea how she and her 'friend' got to his cabin anyway; he figured he'd have her explain if she woke up.

He laid her down on the massive sofa in the living room, watching as she was made to seem even smaller than she was by the size of the couch. He'd had it custom made, like most of the furniture in his cabin and other houses. The frail shit just didn't cut it for him; made him feel clumsy and he ended up breaking most of it. His claws didn't really help any, but it wasn't like he could do anything about it.

He grabbed a blanket and wrapped her up in it before turning up the thermostat. He turned back to look at her, unsure of what to do. He'd never doctored up a frail before and it seemed like a daunting task, one that made him rethink his decision to try saving her.

Not one to knuckle under though, he walked over to her and peeled the blanket away from her body. She'd taken a hell of a beating. Her eyes were swollen shut from purple and black welts, her jaw was swollen, and her nose broken. But she was shivering now, which meant that at least she was functioning better. She was deathly pale and looked feverish. There was a large, ugly gash on the back of her head and blood had dried and matted her dark brown hair.

He took his nail and sliced through the material of her dress, careful not to let his claws touch her skin. He peeled it off of her, leaving her in thin, old-fashioned undergarments. He lifted her, careful of her bad arm, and carried her into the bathroom. He sat her on the edge of the tub, propped up by one of his arms, and started filling the tub with hot water. He cut the undergarments away and gently placed her in the tub. She hadn't been wearing shoes.

He lifted her arm, which turned out to be fractured rather than completely broken. He'd been through enough wars and broken enough bones to be able to tell the difference. Her ribs were broken though, and she'd be lucky if she didn't die from marrow seeping into her blood or the ribs puncturing a major organ. The truth was, she probably wouldn't survive no matter what he did.

He felt irritated about that, frustrated by his helplessness. He'd never been helpless a day in his life, now a frail walks into his damn house, sick and hurt, and he doesn't know what the fucking hell to do with himself. Damn frails, always fucked everything up.

He watched her naked chest rise over the water, her breathing getting deeper. Her breasts were pretty damn small, but he had other things to worry about at the moment than her rack. Like how she seemed intent on sliding down into the tub and drowning herself, forcing him to pull her up every few minutes.

He sat on the edge of the tub and watched her, thinking about what he'd do with her. He'd leave her in the living room for the night but he'd rather keep her in sight, just in case she decided to live and make more trouble for him. He could keep her on his bed with him but he'd never had a woman in it before, let alone a frail, and the idea seemed invasive to him somehow. The idea of having a frail in his house at all was invasive to him; having one in his bed was flat out uncomfortable. And Victor Creed didn't like to be uncomfortable.

He'd have to go out later and do something about that body. If the ice cube's friends decided to come looking for him he didn't want them finding him on his property. He had enough trouble with one frail.

Color was returning to her face naturally pale face and she wasn't shivering anymore. He touched her forehead with the back of his hand and found that although she was still warm her fever had lessened significantly.

He got a small towel and dipped it in the water before lifting her head and washing the gash on her head. Her face contorted in pain, and he forced himself to be a little more gentle with her. He found half a dozen or so more deep cuts and scratches on her body. He washed her with soap as best as he could, careful around her wounds. When he was done he rinsed her off and wrapped her up in his towel. He grabbed another and dried her off quickly before taking her into his bedroom and putting her under the comforter on his bed. He figured he could put up with the frail being in here until she either died or recovered enough to be tied up so she couldn't run away until he was done with her.

He laid down next to her and settled in for a helluva long night.


	2. A Mysterious Scent

_**An Old-Fashioned Girl **_

_**Chapter Two: "A Quick Healer."**_

**A/N: I own nothing but the beautiful plot bunny and my OCs. I wish I owned Victor though… **

_**~ Ashleigh Knight**_

The frail seemed fucking determined to be a nuisance to him. All she did was toss and turn all night long, moaning and groaning about one thing or another. It crossed his mind more than once that he should just gut her and toss her body out into the cold. It was tempting, but then he'd touch her and she'd calm down, bewildering him into allowing her to stay. She was a strange creature, completely foreign to him. He'd seen his share of frail females before but not under circumstances quite like these. He's always been raping them or killing them, not trying to fix them. And to have the frail actually _calm down_ when he touched her rather than jerk away was an interesting development to him; it pulled at him too, the way Jimmy used to pull at him when he'd shiver and sob in the snow when Victor hadn't eaten for days just so the kid could make it until they found some real food. It fucking hurt to remember it but at the same time, feeling that way again did something good for him, made him feel better, though he wasn't sure why or how.

He spent the whole night touching her in some way or other to keep her calm, trailing his claws over her stomach and breasts, nuzzling her neck and scenting her, licking the wounds on her body. All of it calmed her, but it kept him up all night, though he didn't mind as much as he let on to himself. There was something about the way the frail would arch against him when he brushed her nipples or smile when he nuzzled a ticklish spot on her neck that kept him wide awake and wondering if all frails felt the way he did when she did those little things that made him want her or if it was just his lack of any real experience with women that weren't outright terrified.

Her wounds were coming along nicely and the freezing cold didn't seem to be having any lasting effect on her. She was a touch little frail, he'd give her that. An outright fighter, from what he'd seen too. Killed that male with a rock and her bare strength, what little of it she had.

It was past dawn by the time he left the frail to get something to eat; he was fucking starved and he'd be damned if he went hungry for a frail, no matter how sick she was. He cooked up a large meal and saved a few scraps for the frail in case she woke up; she was doing well enough that it wouldn't have surprised him.

Rebecca felt warm and safe; it was hardly a wonder she thought she was dreaming or dead. She opened her eyes though and found herself lying in a ridiculously large bed that was at least double a king size in length and width, making it more of an island than a bed. She also found that she was naked, which terrified her completely. It was only when she tried to get up and felt the pain in her arm that she remembered what had happened. The running, Ezekias Rotterdam chasing her until she fell and was about to be raped, her prayer and the answer that came in the form of a rock, but above all, killing Ezekias, the man that called himself her husband, was burned into her memory. For a moment, she couldn't bear the sorrow of knowing she was a cold-blooded murderer. She curled in on herself and let out an animal sound of anguish before breaking down into sobs and tears. She only stopped when she heard the bed squeak and saw a beautiful man sitting across from her, eyeing her curiously. He had sand-colored hair and hair on his mutton chops; he wore a turtleneck sweater and jeans, and he had claws instead of fingernails, making her realize that he was a mutant, which didn't horrify her the way her aunt and uncle would have wanted it to. She pulled the covers up to her neck to cover her nakedness, earning a smirk from the man across from her.

"No need to be shy on my account," he said, his voice dangerously seductive. "It's nothing I haven't already seen."

She blushed from her ears to the tips of her toes, and she could tell by the way he looked at her that he wondered just how far that blush went down.

"Who are you?" she asked softly. "What do you want?"

The smirk dropped and suddenly the man was in her face, his body poised over hers.

"_I'll_ ask the questions, _frail_," he sneered, his words fierce and terrifying to her. "Who are _you_?"

"Rebecca," she said, proud of how little her voice shook. "Rebecca Tanner."

"What are you doing on my land?" he demanded.

"I- I was running," she said meekly. "I escaped."

"Escaped who?"

"The Friends of Humanity," she said, sounding frightened. "Please, _please_ don't make me go back! They'll kill me for sure this time!"

"I haven't decided what I'm going to do with you yet," he said; "Sniveling isn't helping your case any. Now tell me how you came to be on my land, and start from the beginning this time."

"Alright," she said, wiping away a stray tear and sniffling, flashing him a forced but warm smile. "My parents died when I was twelve, and I went to live with my aunt and uncle, who live not far from here. My parents had never said much about them, only that they were very religious. I am too but my parents weren't, so I was fairly happy to go live with people that thought the way I did, even though my parents had never been hard on me about my beliefs."

"Cut the bullshit and get to the kill," he snarled, rolling his eyes when she whispered an apology and continued.

"My aunt and uncle, the Reeds, didn't believe as I did though; they belonged to a fundamentalist sect of the Friends of Humanity, a group that hates mutants," she said.

"I know what the fucking F. O. H. is, frail," he said bitingly. "Now get on with it."

"They were horrible people," she said, not hearing him, too focused on her story. "Their sect married of girls as young as nine to men as old as eighty, saying it was God's will. Their leader, Joshua McDaniel, 'married' me off to a man the day I got there; his name was Ezekias Rotterdam, and he had twelve wives when we were married. The ceremonies weren't legal, more like rituals that had no standing with the state or federal law. I wasn't really married, but everyone told me I was and expected me to sleep with him. I wouldn't, so I was put in the Salvation Hole, a dark cavern that was turned into a prison by the Friends of Humanity.

"I spent long bouts of time there without seeing anyone, without food, without anything but the water that streamed through the cavern," she said wistfully. "Sometimes it was so long that I would lose track. They whipped me as well, but I never gave in and eventually they let me out. Ezekias had enough wives to occupy himself, though he did try to rape me every once in a while. I somehow always managed to get away but they would always put me back in the Salvation Hole for a few weeks, just as an example of what rebellion gets you.

"Years passed in that way, and some time ago, I don't know when, I was put back in the Hole. But after years of waiting for my chance, I finally managed to escape. I was pursued by Ezekias, and I ran so far and so fast that I couldn't keep track of where I was or how far I'd gone. I don't know if it was a mile or five, but eventually, I tripped and Ezekias caught me. He was going to…" she trailed off, trembling.

"Go on," Victor said gruffly.

"He was going to rape me," Rebecca said, her voice stronger than before. "I prayed that I wouldn't die that way, and my prayer was answered; my hand grasped a rock in the snow, and while Ezekias was _busy_, I used all my strength to hit him with it. One blow and he was dead; I don't know how I had the strength to do that after everything," she said, tears in her voice," but somehow I did. I don't remember anything after that; I assume I passed out, and then you must have found me."

"Well, ain't that just fucking peachy," he said irritably, not showing how interesting her story had been to him. "Now what am I supposed to do with you?" The words sounded somewhat exasperated, but even then, dangerous and seductive to her ears.

"Well, you could let me stay for a while," she said hopefully, forgetting for a moment that she was naked in a stranger's house and there was no telling who or what that stranger was. It wouldn't have mattered though if she had remembered; she was sick and tired of running. All she wanted was somewhere to rest for a while.

"And why would I do that?" he asked.

"I can cook and clean, and even sew," she said hastily. "I can keep house for you, do your laundry, all sorts of things."

"I can think of a few things for you to do," he said wickedly, eyeing her body through the covers.

She blushed seven shades of red, but, to his great surprise, she didn't look horrified as she should have. He trailed a nail across her jaw, and she wasn't afraid; instead, her eyes became hooded and her breathing became a little ragged, gooseflesh breaking out all over her skin. He was arousing her, he realized in surprise. The little frail wanted him! Well, this was an interesting development, he thought.

"I think I'll let you stay after all," he said, grinning, making sure to show his incisors. She didn't look afraid, more awed and entranced, which puzzled him. "What?" he growled, irritated by his confusion.

"N-nothing," she stammered, blushing again.

"That's what I thought," he said.

Without warning, he grabbed her ankle through the covers and yanked her toward him. She squeaked but wisely did not fight him. He climbed on top of her, straddling her hips, and her eyes went wide.

"You even _think_ of doing anything to piss me off, and I'll find a ways to keep you in pain for _years_ before I finally kill you," he said, his face dangerously close to hers. "Got it?"

"Uh-huh," she said distractedly, trembling, her scent sweetening with fear and something else, something spicy and musky, something that made it very difficult not to fuck her then and there, whether she liked it or not. He'd make her scream as he tore her apart, and he'd love every second of it.

"You payin' attention to me?" he said, grabbing a fistful of hair. The scent of fear spiked, but so did the other scent. Fuck, she was _aroused_, he realized. He couldn't hardly believe it, but he could smell it on her, that musky scent he didn't recognize at first because he'd never related to himself before, but it couldn't be anything else but him this time.

"Yes!" she cried, arching her body against his to keep the pain in her head to a minimum. She was panting, and it took all his self-control not to fuck her till she begged him to stop and then fuck her some more.

He flinched away from her as though he'd been burned and left the house as quickly as he could; he needed to cool off, and where better than in the middle of a snowstorm?


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